Evil in a Mask (45 page)

Roger still had a considerable sum in gold in his money-belt, but nowhere near enough to buy the property outright. Nevertheless, he was quick to realise that, when the flotilla of refugees arrived, he would be able to resell the place for ten times its present value. So he said he was agreeable to buy, provided the lady would take somewhat less, and accept payment by instalments over the next twelve months. He then excused himself to have another look at the view from the verandah, leaving Philippe, as they had previously arranged, to negotiate on his behalf.

Out on the verandah he anxiously scrutinised the bay as, should the flotilla be sighted before he had completed his arrangements, the advantage he had derived from arriving in Rio ahead of it would be lost. To his relief, only a solitary merchantman, outward bound, was in sight.

Ten minutes later, Philippe joined him to say that he had got a third off the price. Ten per cent was to be paid down, and the remainder at monthly intervals. In spite of the grilling heat, accompanied by the widow, they piled into the carriage and drove into the town to the house of the lady's notary.

He was about to settle down for his siesta and expressed great surprise at being asked to transact any business with such urgency; but he was prevailed upon by the offer of an exceptionally large fee to draw up a letter of agreement which, pending a formal contract, would be binding upon both parties. Roger paid the ten per cent in gold and the widow duly signed, at the same time agreeing to give possession that evening, then collect her personal belongings later and several pieces of furniture which she particularly valued.

Having left the widow with her lawyer, on the way back to Philippe's inn Roger disclosed the secret he had promised the Frenchman. Don Joao was shortly to be expected in Brazil and with him were coming fifteen thousand people. The price of everything was certain to skyrocket. All Philippe had to do
was to go out at once and buy every cask and bottle of wine he could lay his hands on. His profits should be enormous.

Amazed, most grateful and tremendously excited, Philippe set off immediately, to secure the supplies which would prove a bonanza for him. Roger went up to his room and, satisfied with the result of his exertions, but sweating like a pig, collapsed upon his bed.

In the comparative cool of the evening, he again went out and down to the barren square. Round the shoddy fountain he found gathered the notables of the city, as it transpired was their custom. Most of them sat lethargically in carrying chairs, fanning themselves and slowly imbibing fruit drinks laced with locally-made spirit, brought to them by Negro slaves. So enervated had they become by the climate and the dreary lives they led that the arrival of Roger as a newcomer aroused in them only a faint interest. When questioned about himself, Roger said that he was an Englishman travelling for pleasure, and the ship in which he had sailed from Europe had become so damaged in a tempest that she had been forced to drop anchor off Macoé, to carry out immediate repairs. Meanwhile he kept an eye on the entrance to the great bay, expecting that the arrival of the flotilla could not now be long delayed.

When darkness fell, there was still no sign of it, but at half past six the next morning, Philippe roused Roger with the news that it was approaching. Having dressed in haste, Roger hurried down to the square, to find half the population of the city already assembled, and the remainder flowing into it.

A fishing boat had encountered the flotilla soon after dawn and at once returned to harbour with the almost incredible news that the Prince Regent was on his way from Portugal to take up permanent residence in Brazil. That His Royal Highness was not aboard one of the ships, now only a mile away, was a disappointment but, nevertheless, the huge crowd of people was wild with excitement.

The Viceroy went off in his barge, on which the gold leaf had long since tarnished, to welcome the distinguished refugees, and brought ashore the most important ones, among
whom was de Pombal. It took Roger ten minutes to fight his way through the crowd until the Marquis caught sight of him and exclaimed, rather coldly Roger thought:

‘Why, Mr. Brook! You left us without explanation at Macoé and we have been wondering what had happened to you. It seems you decided to steal a march on us by making your way here overland.'

Roger gave a wry smile. ‘It is as well I did, milord; for I fear you will all find Rio a far from pleasant city to live in. But at least I have secured for you reasonable accommodation.'

Another two hours elapsed before Lisala, her aunt and Dona Christina came ashore. Since the day that her charge had gone with Roger up the mountain outside Isfahan, the duenna had always regarded him with suspicious hostility; but the other two ladies were delighted to see him.

He was, however, much amused by their reactions when he took them out to see their new home. They thanked him courteously for his forethought in finding quarters for them, but by their standards it was a poor place, and they obviously found difficulty in restraining their comments on its lack of amenities.

It was not until the evening that they began to appreciate the service he had rendered them. While they rested during the hottest hours, he returned to the inn to collect an ample supply of stores that he had asked Philippe to procure for him, and the Marquis went down to the hard to superintend the bringing ashore by his servants of the most urgently-needed baggage. De Pombal got back an hour or so before Roger, and gave the ladies a first account of the amazement and distress of their companions during the voyage at finding themselves stranded in such a place as stinking, poverty-stricken and disease-ridden Rio.

The evening went in unpacking and in arranging the rooms. The latter business provided a succession of unhappy surprises for the ladies, as they found the cooking utensils scanty, dirty and worn, the beds hard; many of the sheets holed; and large, dangerous-looking spiders on the ceilings of those bedrooms that had not been occupied for a considerable time. But the
Marquis comforted them by saying that, within a few days, they would have all the household goods, furnishings and pictures that they had brought with them from Lisbon. Over an alfresco supper they became more cheerful and were at least able to enjoy the relief that their ghastly voyage was over.

The bedroom that Roger had chosen for himself was only one door away from that allotted to Lisala, her duenna's room being in between. It had been a tiring day, so they all retired to bed early. Roger restrained his impatience until midnight, then tiptoed along to Lisala's room.

It was lit by a solitary candle, and she was sitting up in bed waiting for him. In fervid whispers they exchanged greetings, then made violent love, temporarily satiating the terrible frustration to which they had both been subject for so many weeks. But both of them felt too weak and tired to repeat the act. For a long while they lay embraced and dawn was creeping through the curtains when Roger tiptoed back to his room.

Two days after the arrival of the flotilla, news came in that Don Joao and his principal Ministers had landed on January 22nd at Bahia, the old capital, eight hundred miles to the north; then that other ships of the scattered fleet had arrived at other Brazilian ports.

During the days that followed, it frequently rained in torrents, often for hours at a stretch, and the marshlands outside the city became swamps: breeding grounds for malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Meanwhile the unhappy exiles made such arrangements for themselves as they could. Quite unscrupulously the Viceroy commandeered the best houses in the town for the Portuguese nobility, and the unfortunate Brazilian owners were compelled to occupy lodgings little better than shacks. Other rich refugees who had brought large sums of money with them paid fantastic prices for houses with only three or four rooms. The majority continued to live in the ships for as long as they could, and only gradually acquired mean accommodation.

The newcomers soon began to adopt many of the customs of the Brazilians—the hours they kept, the food they ate and the clothes they wore—which had been dictated largely by
the torrid climate. From Portugal the wealthy had brought only their personal servants, stewards and cooks, all of whom were white. Here in Rio mulattos occasionally filled such posts; but the great majority of servants were Negro slaves, and such exiles as could afford to do so bought one or several of them.

De Pombal purchased seven: two to do the menial tasks in the house, four to act as stablemen or carry the heavily-curtained sedan chairs used by the ladies when they went into the town, and a seventh who acted as a guard to keep the swarms of beggars from molesting them.

This last was named Baob, and he was a much superior man to the average slave. He was a magnificent specimen of the Negro and claimed to be the son of an African chief. As it was several years since he had been shipped over to Rio, he knew the city thoroughly and was unusually intelligent. In accordance with custom there, the Marquis had made for him a smart livery in the de Pombal colours. Waving his long staff threateningly as he preceded the ladies, he made a most imposing figure. When not so employed he had the free run of the house and was always on call for any small service they required.

When the people of quality had settled in, they began to visit one another at their new homes, spending hours over meagre refreshments while they aired their bitter complaints. Roger accompanied the de Pombals on these occasions, and to a reception given by the Viceroy. The so-called ‘Palace' proved to be on a par with the rest of the town. Starved for many years by the Home Government of sufficient funds to maintain a state in keeping with their high office, the Viceroys had lived in penury. The rooms had not been redecorated for several generations; the furniture was conspicuous by its very scantiness; most of such chairs and sofas as there were had cotton covers to conceal the fact that in places their brocade had rotted away; and the walls were stained with mildew.

In the meantime, Roger was spending most of every night with Lisala. During the voyage being constantly in each other's company, yet unable to do more than snatch a very
occasional kiss, had at times made them irritable and quarrelsome. But now that good food and leisure had restored their vigour they were enjoying the renewal of their passion with the same abandon and delight as they had experienced during the first hectic nights they had spent together in Isfahan; and, so far, they had no reason to believe that any member of the household suspected their liaison.

It was January 31st, the morning after the Viceroy's reception, that de Pombal, being alone with Roger after breakfast, said to him with a serious mien:

‘Mr. Brook, for some days past I have felt that I must broach to you a matter that has been much on my mind. Either you or I—or rather, I and my family—must leave this house.'

Roger immediately jumped to the conclusion that somehow the Marquis had found out about his nightly visits to Lisala, and that he himself was in for an extremely unpleasant quarter of an hour. To gain a little time, he frowned and said:

‘My Lord, I fail to understand …'

‘It is on account of your relationship with Lisala,' de Pombal promptly informed him.

His worst fears confirmed, Roger decided that, instead of expressing regret and bowing under the abuse he expected the outraged father to heap upon him, he would carry the war into the enemy's camp. With all the dignity he could muster, he said firmly:

‘Your Lordship has long been aware of my passionate attachment to your daughter. I informed you of it the day after the
Nunez
sailed from Lisbon, and that I wished to marry her. That matters are at present as they are is entirely due to your refusal to allow us to become affianced. You have only to give your consent, and I will happily make Lisala my wife.'

With a mildness that, in the circumstances, Roger found truly amazing, the Marquis replied, ‘Mr. Brook, I willingly concede that the present situation is of my own making; because, although I refused my consent to an engagement, I did give you permission to make Lisala the object of your attentions. Seeing that the two of you were about to be confined for several weeks in the close quarters of a crowded ship, I saw no alternative. But now that we are settled here in Brazil I cannot allow the association to continue. The fact that you are living under the same roof, and your constant attendance on her wherever we go, is prejudicial to my arranging for her
a … er … please forgive the expression but I must be plain … a more suitable marriage.'

Roger's surprise at de Pombal's forbearance was swiftly overtaken by relief. His last words were a clear indication that, after all, he did not know that his daughter was Roger's mistress. He was simply anxious to secure for her a husband of his own choice; and, as long as the handsome Mr. Brook continued to be her constant companion, that would prove a serious obstacle to arranging a match.

The relief Roger felt was only momentary. He had escaped the scathing reproaches of an indignant parent, but was still faced with the prospect of being again separated from his bewitching Lisala. With a frown, he asked:

‘In what way, milord, do you consider me an unsuitable husband for your daughter? I possess a not inconsiderable fortune and from England I can, in due course, have funds transmitted to me here. Whereas the Portuguese nobility now in Brazil are cut off from their sources of revenue; and will remain so as long as the Emperor Napoleon continues master of the Continent. With regard to birth, I consider few of your friends my superior. I am the son of an English Admiral and, on my mother's side, have noble blood. She was the daughter of a Scottish Earl.'

De Pombal's eyes suddenly grew hard, and his voice harsh. ‘So you say; but I have no guarantee that you are speaking the truth!'

‘My Lord!' Roger began an indignant protest.

Angrily the Marquis cut him short. ‘Can you deny that when we first met you styled yourself
M. le Colonel Chevalier de Breuc
?'